


Breaking The Ice

by darkly_ironic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkly_ironic/pseuds/darkly_ironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam nearly dies, Dean and Castiel attempt Christmas, and Gabriel reevaluates his life choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking The Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sabriel secret santa on tumblr.

Sam was beginning to remember how much he hated winter in the northeast. Yeah, the snow was pretty, and when the pale mid-winter sun hit the local lake, it shone like a mirror, but the cold was unbearable, sinking through his clothes and under his skin, twining around his bones and choking his lungs. There was a reason he’d applied to Stanford and not Columbia.

The addition of an angry spirit did nothing for the climate.

Dean and Cas were up at the house, taking care of the ghosts of the husband and wife, leaving Sam the murdered lover in the boathouse. It should have been an easy job, but Sam was off his game, and the remains of one Miles Douglas had gained the upper hand almost immediately, crushing Sam into the rough wall and jamming an oar against his throat. The crowbar he’d used to pry open the doors was on the floor by his feet, but it may as well have been on the other side of the boathouse for all the good it did him.

Luckily, Miles Douglas had been rather spindly in life, and while death made him stronger, he was still weak enough that Sam was able to use one hand to mostly keep the wood from crushing his windpipe while the other dug in his pocket for a salt-filled shotgun shell. His fingers finally closed on the cool plastic, and he fumbled the cap off just as his vision was starting to go dark. The salt cut through the ghost like acid, and the oar clattered to the floor as the spirit of Douglas disintegrated. 

Sam staggered away from the wall, gasping for breath. Douglas had been buried somewhere out here, but that was all he knew for sure. It was times like this that he wouldn’t mind a little archangel backup, but he hadn’t seen Gabriel for a few weeks. It wasn’t like Sam hadn’t worked hundreds of jobs like this, and he didn’t _need_ Gabriel. It just might have been nice.

And it certainly wasn’t that Sam was starting to miss his bad jokes, or the way he was comfortable with completely violating Sam’s personal space in an utterly more self-aware way than Cas invaded Dean’s, or how sometimes his hand brushed Sam’s when he was sharing whatever horrible, tooth-rotting candy he’d found lately and it felt oddly gentle and soothing.

Of course, Gabriel had never really tried to make himself a part of the family after he’d decided to join up and help stop the apocalypse, but his absence had been even more conspicuous lately. So maybe Sam had done something stupid, let a couple of beers get the best of him, and done something he ended up regretting—or at least, regretting the results—but surely a stupid drunken kiss wouldn’t scare Gabriel off. Sam closed his eyes for a second, and tried to focus on the job at hand; if he started worrying about that now, there was no way he’d leave the boathouse alive.

His shotgun was by the door, where he’d dropped it when the spirit had attacked. He reached out, but just as his fingers closed around it, something hit his chest like a semi-truck. Apparently, the salt had only pissed Douglas off.

Sam flew out through the boathouse’s open doors, and hit the frozen lake with a dull crunch. For a second, he thought it was the ice cracking. Then the pain hit, racing up his leg like fire, and Sam knew without looking that it was broken. He hissed, but it was the least of his trouble.

For a second, he hoped that once he was away from the long-buried bones of Miles Douglas he’d be safe for a few minutes, but he was never that lucky. The ghost was on him again in an instant, and Sam scrambled back, trying to find his shotgun in the dark. The moon was bright, but even with its light, there was no sign of the gun.

Then the ghost was on top of him, a sudden, impossible weight that drove him out farther onto the surface of the lake. Beneath him, something cracked, and this time it was the ice. It gave way under him, and he fell, freezing water filling his lungs and soaking his clothing instantly. His many layers turned to dead weight in the water, dragging him down. The pain from his leg was suddenly practically gone, but so was the feeling in the rest of him.

Sam tried to kick back up to the surface, but the ghost was still with him, its fingers tight around Sam’s throat and somehow colder than the water. Far above him, the moon was a mocking beacon through the thick ice. Even if Sam managed to break free of his attacker, he’d still be trapped under the ice.

The last bit of air in his lungs left him in a gasp. “ _Gabriel…_ ”

There was a blinding golden light, and finally, Sam passed out.

* * *

When Sam woke up, he was warm, and his leg didn’t hurt at all. It was dark when he opened his eyes, or maybe he’d just imagined opening his eyes, but there were soft voices somewhere close, and while he still wasn’t conscious to make all of them out, Dean’s low murmur was as familiar as Sam’s own breathing. Comfortable and safe, he fell back asleep.

The next time he woke up, it was light, and there was an archangel looming over him. Well, as much as someone with the size difference that he and Gabriel had _could_ loom.

“Gabriel?” Sam actually sounded pretty normal, which he hadn’t expected. He was fairly sure that the last time he almost drowned and/or died of hypothermia, he’d felt like hell for a long time afterwards.

“Shh.” Gabriel didn’t look up from where his hands were splayed across Sam’s chest.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said from somewhere behind Gabriel, and while he sounded tense and a little unsure, there was no imminent danger there. Sam let himself relax back onto his pillows. Whatever Gabriel was doing felt odd, not painful, but warm and a little itchy. It was over in a minute.

“What happened?” Sam asked once Gabriel leaned back.

“You tried to die on us.” Gabriel didn’t sound particularly concerned, and Sam tried not to take it personally. “So rude. Really, Sam, I expected better from you.”

“I prayed to you, didn’t I?” Everything after Sam went under was a little fuzzy, but bits and pieces were beginning to come back.

“Yep. And just in the nick of time, too.” Gabriel scooted back to sit cross-legged at the foot of Sam’s bed.

“And the ghosts?”

Dean crossed the room to sit in a chair by the bed. “Cas and I finished up at the house. By the time we got down to the lake, Gabe had torched the boathouse. That took care of it.”

“Good.” Sam glanced around the room. It wasn’t their normal motel room—more like a small cabin. There was a door, which he guessed led to a bathroom, and a roaring fireplace. It felt homey, comfortable. There was another bed against the wall, which Sam guessed Dean had been using. “How long was I out?”

“A few days.” Dean glanced at Gabriel, who was being unusually quiet. “It was kinda touch and go for a while.”

“I feel great,” Sam said, experimentally moving his injured leg. It twinged a little, but didn’t hurt nearly as much as he expected it to.

“I’ve been healing you,” Gabriel said, softly. “You may feel fine, but you’re still in danger.”

“Well, I’m just glad you woke up.” Dean stood, and gripped Sam’s shoulder tightly. “I’m going to go help Cas find dinner.”

Sam waited until he’d pulled his coat on and left the cabin with a rush of cold air from the open door to look at Gabriel.

“I’m a little surprised you’re here.”

Gabriel didn’t meet his eyes. “You were in danger.” He finally looked up, and smiled, wide and fake. “Anyway, you die, it’s a line straight to Luci. Can’t let that happen if we want this little marble to keep spinning.”

Sam shifted. “So now that I’m doing better, I guess you’ll be heading off again?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Like I said, you’re not at 100% yet. You might relapse. I need to keep an eye on you. Besides, it’s almost Christmas, and Dean mentioned trying to get Castiel drunk. Could be fun.”

“So, you’re actually sticking around?”

Gabriel slid off the bed, raising his hands. “Whoa, let’s not get crazy here! I’m just keeping you alive, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He was starting to slip into sleep again. Maybe Gabriel was right about him not being completely healed. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

He was already half-asleep, so it was entirely possible that he dreamed the soft press of lips against his forehead, and Gabriel’s whispered, “Me too, kiddo.” If it was, it was the only dream he had that night. 

* * *

 The next few days blurred together.

Sam slept, mostly, and ate the chicken soup that Dean made for him. Dean and Cas were in and out—they’d disappear for hours, and come back red-faced and covered in snow. Sam was a little relieved when Gabriel told him they were learning to ice-skate; he’d rather have that image seared into his mind than the alternative.

And Gabriel didn’t leave. Whatever he’d done to heal Sam, it may not have been instant, but Sam felt _good_. He also suspected that Gabriel was walking through his dreams and guarding them, because for the first time in a long time, his sleep was free of nightmares and Lucifer.

On the fifth day in the cabin, Sam got out of bed, showered, and got dressed. When he came out of the bathroom, there was a real, live tree in the corner of the room.

“What’s that?” He asked, because just because he knew _what_ something was didn’t mean that he knew _why_ they had a tree almost as tall as him in the cabin.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” Dean said, like he was talking to a small child. “Cas has never had one.”

“Okay,” Sam said, and went to sit by Gabriel, who was watching Dean and Cas manhandle the tree into a stand and looked fascinated by the process.

“Popcorn?” he asked when Sam was settled, producing a bag out of nowhere. Sam took a handful. It was warm, and dripping with butter.

“Did you have something to do with this?” Sam asked.

“Nope. This was all Dean’s idea. I think he’s taking his role of Castiel’s educator very seriously.”

The tree almost fell, and Dean had to dive to catch it before it hit the floor. Gabriel popped another kernel into his mouth.

“You could fix it for them, couldn’t you?”

Gabriel nodded, not looking away from the growing mayhem that was Dean, Cas, and the tree. “Yeah, but then what would Cas learn about being human?”

“I should give them a hand.” Sam started to stand, but Gabriel threw an arm around his shoulders, and easily held him to the chair.

“You’re still recovering. Doctor’s orders, no tree-wrangling for you.”

Sam shrugged, careful not to dislodge Gabriel’s arm, and reached over to grab more popcorn.

Apparently, Sam was healed enough that he could help with ornaments. He suspected Gabriel allowed it because Sam was the only one tall enough to reach the top of the tree to place a crudely made angel Gabriel had produced from nothing. It looked suspiciously like Cas, much to Dean’s amusement and Cas’ irritation.

After they’d finished with the tree, Dean and Cas went out to find more lights, and left Sam sitting in front of the fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The flames flickered and jumped, a hundred twisted, ever-changing shapes. He felt, rather than saw, Gabriel standing behind him.

“That couple of weeks that you disappeared,” Sam said, carefully. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go there, but the words were tumbling out of their own accord now. “Was it because of—of what I did?” Somehow, he managed not to say, _“when I kissed you.”_   

“I won’t say you didn’t startle me,” Gabriel said, and fell heavily to sit next to Sam on the floor. Sam set his mug on the hearth. “But mostly I realized I needed to reevaluate some things.” And that didn’t sound ominous _at all_.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Sam jumped as Gabriel reached for his face, his hand cool on Sam’s cheek. “Don’t be.”

Sam’s lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow. Gabriel was so close, it would be so easy too—Gabriel closed the gap between them, pressing himself close to Sam, lips slotting easily against Sam’s. His mouth tasted like peppermint and chocolate.

When they broke apart, Sam was gasping for breath, and Gabriel looked a little stunned.

“That—that wasn’t bad,” Gabriel said.

“Shut up,” Sam said, “just shut up,” and kissed him again, pulling Gabriel flush against him. His hot chocolate cooled to lukewarm, forgotten.

* * *

 It took another four days for Gabriel to pronounce Sam healed. Sam had felt completely fine for three of those. In that time, the cabin had been filled with swags of spicy-smelling wintergreen, twinkling strands of lights, and the smell of cookies, which was mostly Gabriel’s doing. Despite Cas’ best efforts, the little angel still glowered down at them from the top of the tree, and Sam was starting to feel a little fond of it.

“So, is everything back to normal now?” he said, soft enough that only Gabriel could hear. “You go off and do whatever you do when you’re not with us?”

“Normal? You seriously want to talk to me about normal? Anyway—” The angel shrugged. “I leave, who knows what kind of a mess you’ll get into? You need someone to keep an eye on you, and frankly, those two only have eyes for each other.” He pointed a sticky spoon towards Dean and Cas, who were trying to assemble a cheap gingerbread house kit. Or rather, Cas was, and Dean was supervising, though not terribly well. Sam couldn’t remember if Dean had ever actually made a gingerbread house before.

“It could be nice,” Sam said. “If you stayed.”

For a long time, Gabriel didn’t answer. Sam could only guess at what he was thinking—it must be hard to settle down, even for what would probably be a blink of an eye for someone who’d lived as long as Gabriel, after so many millennia of living alone, constantly moving. There would be vulnerability too, the danger of actually admitting that he might care about someone other than himself. It wouldn’t be easy, not for either of them. It was a plunge, willingly diving into deep water, with the possibility that the ice could close over their heads.

“Here, stir this,” Gabriel said finally, pushing the bowl of cookie dough into Sam’s hands, and bumping him lightly with his shoulder. He smiled up at Sam. “They’re going to be fantastic.”

 


End file.
